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CONCLUSION 




CARLYLK C. MclNTYRE 






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Copyright 1919 

By 

Carlyle C. Mclntyre 



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Even in these turbulent times there are 
those whose clearer vision can discern 
above the confusion of the moral struggle 
the gleam of the imperturbable stars and 
to that small brotherhood is this work 
most Jraternally dedicated. 

— C. C. M 



PROLOGUE 

With a desire to render the ensuing allegory 
as comprehensible as is possible, the writer has 
decided to prefix these words of explanation, 
hoping thereby to reconcile the reader with certain 
inevitable paradoxes which are inseparable from 
the poem. 

Since the aim of "In Conclusion*' is to approxi- 
mate truth as nearly as is possible and to elimin- 
ate the customary illusions, pretentions, and 
conventions of life the writer has, in the work 
proper, seen fit to make use of the first person 
singular throughout. It was Thoreau who said, 
**We commonly do not remember that it is, after 
all, always the first person who is speaking. 

Perhaps the title of "In Conclusion" is in 
itself a misnomer, since our conclusions depend 
entirely upon the experiences of our individual 
lives, whether those experiences be actual or 
the interpreted experiences of others, and since 
life is constantly subject to growth and to the 
deepening and enriching influences of time. 

Be the title appropriate or otherwise it is 
certain that conclusions, as well as life, are sub- 
ject to constant change and that as long as life 



vi Prologue 



and experience are existent, just so long shall 
conclusions be lacking in finality. 

Since "In Conclusion'' is an expression of the 
"truth" as realized through the experiences of 
a life which is probably but half completed, it 
therefore cannot be taken as necessarily final, 
even inasmuch as it is the sincere expression of 
that life. 

The writer has endeavored to (express the 
truth as he has been given to see the truth, and 
this with no intention of casting discrediting 
reflections upon the equally sincere and equally 
justified views of those who have been given to 
see the truth in a radically different light. 

Each of us lives in an entirely different 
world, an individual world which our individual 
experiences have builded about us, and in these 
varying worlds are as many varying races of 
men as there are different individuals in any one 
of these countless races. No two of us think the 
same thoughts nor see the same things. As 
Schopenhauer has said, "Thoughts put on paper 
are nothing more than footprints in the sand ; you 
see the way the man has gone but to know what he 
saw on his walk, you want his eyes.'* 

Since this is so we are in no sense justified 
in passing judgment upon the thoughts of others, 



Prologue vii 



for to do so is to judge of that which we have never 
seen or known and which, in its entirety, must for 
all time be realized alone by its originator. 

It is true that our individual thoughts are 
largely composites of the fragments of the 
thoughts of others and those in their turn are 
only composites of the imperfectly understood 
thoughts of preceding thinkers, but into each 
individual composite there is mingled something 
that is peculiar to the individual, who is the sole 
possessor of that particular understanding, and 
as a consequence, there are no two individuals 
whose conclusions are in all essentials the same. 

We each, therefore, must build an individual 
castle of thought, though it is true that in so 
doing we may utilize the wreckage of the thought 
castles of others, which has been strewn about our 
feet through the instrumentality of our own 
Vandal-like misconceptions. 

Language at its best is but a poor vehicle for 
the transmission of thought, as must have been 
realized by all who have sought to convey to the 
minds of others some impression pertaining to the 
deeper phases of life and feeling. 

How often we can see, or at leasts^feel, that 
behind a man's words there is dwelling the ghost 



viii Prologue 



of some deeper conviction which is longing in 
vain to find expression. 

There are few illustrations that will better 
emphasize this point than will those beautiful lines 
of Tennyson's, — 

"Break, break, break, 

On thy cold grey stones, Sea! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 

The thoughts that arise in me. 

well for the fisherman's boy. 

That he shouts with his sister at play ! 

O well for the sailor lad, 

That he sings in his boat on the bay \ 

And the stately ships go on 

To their haven under the hill ; 

But for the touch of a vanished hand, 
And the sound of a voice tnat is still ! 

Break, break, break. 

At the foot of thy crags, sea \ 
But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me." 

Where is he who can read those lines and not 
feel the presence of things unsayable, and who 
will not hear the fluttering of wings as the soul 



Prologue ix 



of that master singer strives, like an encaged 
eagle, against the narrow confines of human 
expression ? 

Fortunate is he who in her innermost being 
hears the melodious vibrations of responsive 
chords which, like the silver strings of the harp 
of Aeolus, are fanned into soulful symphonies by 
the passing breath of another's aesthetic concep- 
tions. 

True it is that such natures are proportionately 
exposed to the discords of pain and, as the harp 
of Aeolus will, when in the grasp of the God of 
the Tempest, chant the battle march of the 
elements and in wrangling discontent wail its 
agonies from the measureless depths of the void 
of sound, even so will the aesthetic nature at 
times be swept by chords of bitter agony which in 
passing would gain but feeble response from the 
less tense chords of natures unaesthetic. 

As Burns has expressed the idea, — 

"Dearly bought the hidden treasure 

Finer feelings can bestow 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe." 

But in spite of the necessary accompanying 



Prologue 



pain those, "Chords that vibrate sweetest 
pleasure" are essential to the larger and deeper 
life, and the discords serve only to emphasize the 
harmony and the sweetness of the higher 
pleasures. 

Thus it is that the development of the race as 
well as that of the individual is to be attained 
only through a stimulation of that faculty which 
recognizes and appreciates the beautiful in its 
various forms. 

It is through this channel that the imagination 
or the great awakening power may be revivified, 
and through which the morals of men may be 
unified and elevated. 

It was Victor Hugo who said, — 'The beautiful 
is as useful as the useful." 

But after all it seems that beauty, or at least 
the appreciation of beauty, must be inherent in the 
soul of the individual, for beauty, be it in what 
form it may, can only appeal to the perceiver 
in as far as he is susceptible to that appeal. 

The expression of another, be it verbal or 
otherwise, is worth no more to an individual than 
inasmuch as it is able to awaken m him the 
ability to feel, to comprehend, and to enjoy; in 
short it is of service only in as far as it is able 
to show the individual who and what he himself is. 



Prologue xi 



It is the effort of all who strive to express the 
deeper and more beautiful convictions of life, 
to submit them in a form which will render them 
most acceptable, comprehensible and effective and 
when this has been done, the writer can only con- 
tent himself with the realization that he has done 
his best, and leave the reader to glean from his 
efforts such ideas as he has succeeded in present- 
ing in a gleanable form. 



As he who in his search for gold pierces to 
the roots of the eternal hills, so is he who in 
quest of truth delves into the heart of things. 

Sinking the shaft of his inquiry through the 
superficiality of established illusion, he descends 
deeper and deeper through the substratifications 
of underlying evidences, laboring under constantly 
increasing difficulties, and supported only by the 
stimulus of the quest. 

About the mouth of every shaft of inquiry is 
to be found the usual quota of self-sufficient and 
loquacious blockheads who, with the promptness 
of ignorance, at once sieze upon, paw over and 
comment upon each load of detached thought 
as it is sent aloft by the patient delver in the 
depths below. 



xii Prolog n c 



Down in the darkness and solitude of the un- 
discovered, the inquirer toils earnestly on, caring 
little or nothing for comments or commenters. 
Fiercer and fiercer grows the heat, harder and 
more hard the underlying foundations of thought 
through which he delves with the determination 
of the undiscouragable. Distant and more distant 
the verdant sod of illusion, and fainter, as he 
works, grows the voice of companionship. Gone 
is the light of human sympathy and appreciation 
and still the solitary soul delves valiantly on, 
never to be satisfied with any treasure other than 
the innermost heart of the unknown. 

Detemiinedly his pick eats its fiery way into 
the stubborn depths, and into the eternal stillness 
of that subterranean realm stabs its ringing inter- 
jections. 

'WTien lo ! with a blinding suddenness the very 
foundation of the world of things gives way below 
his feet. With the intuition of an endangered 
animal he clings desperately to the supporting 
irregularities of the confining walls and, with 
reeling brain, peers from his bottomless shaft into 
the seething and moulten depths of wild insanity. 

Here the inherent strength of the man de- 
teiTnines his fate. Either Nietzche-like he plunges 
headlong into the bubbling void or with stalwart 



Prologue xiii 



and almost superhuman stolidity he refuses to 

yield himself, and scrambling into the suspended 

bucket ascends from the dangerous depths of 

the undiscoverable to dwell the remainder of his 

days in possession of his limited faculties, and 

to content himself with the blossoms of mystery 

which, star-like, are scattered over the verdant 

sod of illusion. 

***** 

It is not the hope of the writer that all 
things parodoxical have been eliminated from the 
ensuing allegory, nor is such his desire. 

It requires no very persistent perusal of any 
particular line of thought to force that thought 
to retreat like a frightened ape into the jungle of 
contradiction and paradox. Here the mind must 
halt while the pursued may, in guaranteed security 
bury itself in the inaccessible depths of the 
unknown, unharmed and unreached by any random 
arrows of mere surmise which may be sent in 
pursuit. 

Being born cripples we are forced oy necessity 
to accept this swaying reed of reason as a crutch. 
So long as we confine our rambles to the grassy 
lowlands of life we may hobble about quite suc- 
cessfully, but the steeper slopes of Olympus are 
strewn vs^ith the broken and discarded crutches 



xiv Prologue 



of those who have vainly sought the dwelling 
place of the gods. 

In approaching the conclusion of his essay, 
"Nominalist and Realist," Emerson has said, "No 
sentence will hold the whole truth, and the only 
way in which we can be just is by giving ourselves 
the lie. Speech is better than silence, silence is 
better than speech. All things are in contact; 
every atom has a sphere of repulsion. Things are 
and are not at the same time — and the like. All 
the universe over, there is but one thing, this 
Two-Face, creator-creature, mind-matter, right- 
wrong, of which any proposition may be affirmed 
or denied." 

The source of reason is mystery and reason 
when pushed to its ultimate will invariably go 
to seed in a pod of parodox. Like a meteor, reason 
appears unannounced from a limitless void of 
gloom, trails its fiery course for a brief spell 
through the higher atmosphere of our little world 
and as precipitately plunges into the gloom again. 

The most profound thought-edifice ever 
builded is no more than a tower of shadows which 
swims for an interval through the desert mirage 
of life. 

Verily mxeditation teaches us that all is 
paradoxical, even unto this thing which we have 



Prologue xv 



termed "thought/' and including these peram- 
bulating mysteries, which for want of a better 
name we have called "men." 

With this feeble attribute which Is "reason" 
we attempt to measure all about us and subse- 
quently to appraise the virtue of all things, never 
considering for an instant that this thing "reason" 
which is our very instrument of measurement is 
nothing more than a mere supposition, a surmise, 
an unfounded hypothesis which we have accepted 
through force of dire necessity. 

What a paradox is the unreasonableness of 
reason, the thoughtlessness of thought! 

Since reason is solely a matter of comparison, 
a judging of things new by comparison with 
things old, a measuring of things unknown by a 
scale formed of a combination of things which 
are supposedly established as facts, it must follow 
that reason can deal only with such considerations 
as are in some sense comparable to precedent. 
The finality, integrity and certainty of all conclu- 
sions thus reached are seriously compromised by 
the hypothetical nature of the factors entering 
into the process of their deduction. 

Since all precedent is in its last sense only 
supposition it must follow that there is no actu- 
ally established fact; for a supposition which is 



xvi Prologue 



said to be proven through the instrumentality of 
another supposition can not, in the final sense of 
the word be spoken of as proven. 

As that most astute thinker, Herbert Spencer, 
has sa'id in concluding his wonderful work on 
"The Unknowable," — "He (the man of science) 
more than any other, knows that in its ultimate 
essence nothing can be known." 

And thus it is through all things, all is fluent, 
all things are, as far as we are concerned, founded 
upon mere supositions which in desperation the 
mind of man has grasped, and upon which he has 
builded this curious leaning tower of Pisa which 
is our society. 

Adrift in the void, upon a mere hypothesis, 
and inhabiting this superstructure of society, man 
wraps the veils of his countless religions about his 
eyes and swings giddily on to the realms of He- 
knows-not-where. He knows not whence he came 
nor whither he will go, but with an indifference 
which has in it the characteristics of both the 
Deity and the fool he bravely deals with the 
incidents of the present. He thinks, if think he 
can, that through all of the bewildering web of 
things he sees a plainly discemable golden thread 
of purpose, and in the thought is hope, and in 
hope alone is life. 



Prologue xvii 



The only thing that he really knows is that he 
knows nothing and that all knowledge is mere 
surmise, and irony of ironies, that this realization 
is in itself only a super-surmise. 

Ye God of mysteries ! Why and wherefore \ 

**I stand amid the roar 
Of the surf tormented shore, 
And I hold within my hand 
Grains of golden sand — 
How few ! yet how they creep 
Through my fingers to the deep. 
While I weep — while I weep ! 
God! can I not grasp 
Them with a tighter clasp? 
God! can I not save 
One from the pitiless wave? 
Is all that we see or seem 
But a dream within a dream?" 

— E. A. Poe. 

If herein there is a reluctance shown in 
accepting the trappings and draperies of any of 
the various established creeds it is through no 
lack of appreciation of the value of the vital 
principle of all religion, but because, as Thomas 
Carlyle has said, — ^'Rituals, Liturgies, Creeds, 



xviii Prologue 



Hierarchies, all this is not religion, all this, were 
i'. dead as Odinism, as Fetishism, does not kill 
religion at all." 

l\ci has it been possible for the writer to 
conceive of a God, an Infinite or a Cause in the 
generally accepted and personified sense of these 
terms. The existing God of all time, force and 
matter can not in his conception of things be 
shrunken into the picture god of the creeds nor 
will the wildest flights of a most fanciful imag- 
ination enable him to mould into a conceivable 
form the God that is. 

In considering the origin and motive of things 
the human mind can not intelligently grasp the 
idea of a beginningless universe nor can it intelli- 
gently grasp the alternative idea of an all wise and 
all powerful creating Cause. In fact the human 
mind being finite is staggered and prostrated at 
any attempt to logically deal with the God idea. 
A man either accepts the God idea, call it what he 
will, or else he refuses to accept it and in either 
case his position is indefensible, and any argu- 
ment advanced in defense of his stand only weak- 
ens his position. 

With a full realization of the shadow-like 
foundations which buoy up his consequent philos- 
ophy of life the writer accepts what to him 



Prologue xix 



seems the firmer of the two possible foundations, 
accepts the God idea in a general way and builds 
thereon. 

It is an old and true adage, 'The more we know 
the less we know" and only ignorance deep and 
dense is positive in its opinions. 

Faith is another name for desperation as 
manifested by small minds. It asserts as truths, 
beliefs which it can not prove to be facts. Hope 
is larger in that it deals with possibilities rather 
than with assertions. Faith is llnal, bigoted, 
violently partisan and oppressive, while hope is 
trusting, broadly catholic and lenient, open to all 
light and intellectual improvement and above all, 
free from all dogmatic formulas and restraints. 
Hope builds upon dreams, calls them dreams and 
trusts that all is well, faith builds upon dreams, 
calls them facts and dogmatically asserts. 

Philosophy, broadly speaking, must of course 
embrace all things pertaining to human life and 
human thought, including the false philosophies 
of the vanished and fast vanishing creeds. In 
fact even hope itself, in order to exist, must have 
some dimly discernable silken thread anchoring it 
to the ghost of an unrecognized and submerged 
philosophy. 



XX Prologue 



Like the waxen pond-lily the flower of hope 
must draw even its most beautiful conception of 
life and cause from the underlying quagmire of 
mere thought. In its rise toward perfection it 
ascends through the malarial waters of earthly 
experience inch by inch, until at last, bursting 
into perfected form, all consideration of the en- 
vironment of its origin is lost in an appreciation 
of the perfected flower. 

Nor is the lily of hope any less a lily because 
it was conceived in the slime coated silt of reason, 
among the tangled roots of mistaken philosophies, 
and forced its waxen beauty heavenward, un- 
sullied, through the polluting waters of human 
experience. 

These things being considered the writer has 
experienced no little difflculty in attempting to 
personify Hope, Philosophy, and the Creeds, and 
to sever, for the time being, that all too evident 
connecting thread, in order to contrast these 
phenomena of the human mind, one with the other. 

The personified philosophy of "In Conclusion" 
is, however, that limited philosophy which Schop- 
enhauer had in mind when, in speaking of the 
intellect he said, — "Its power of comprehension 
never reaches beyond what philosophers call 
'finite things,' or as they sometimes say, *phenom- 



Prologue xxi 



ena/ in short just the fleeting shadows of this 
world, and the interest of the individual, the 
furtherance of his aims and the maintenance of 
his person. And since our intellect is thus emin- 
ent our philosophy should be eminent too, and not 
soar to supermundane things, but be content with 
gaining a thorough grasp of the world of ex- 
perience/* 

It is probable that the philosophy of "In 
Conclusion" would be more readily recognized if 
arrayed in the chain armor of Science than when 
arrayed in the sack-cloth of the sage. 

Be that as it may our scientific philosopher 
and heir to the House of Fact herein meets Hope, 
the child of Him to whom all Philosophies, all 
heirs, and all facts are but incidents and in the 
meeting there is catastrophe. 

In advancing the belief that "all that is, is 
right" the writer has not been blind to the fact 
that suffering is a dominant factor in life. The 
soul sickening misery and oppression of the units 
of humanity have at times born in upon him with 
paralyzing intensity, but in moments of clearer 
vision the workings of the Omniscent Will as 
manifested in the vast scale of things has con- 
vinced him that pain in all of its instructive and 



xxii Prologue 



disciplinary workings, is but one element enter- 
ing into a vast and final good. 

In his exquisite lament Tennyson has said, — 

"And I — my harp would prelude woe — 
I can not all command the strings. 
The glory of the sum of things 
Will flash along the chords and go.'' 

Nor would the writer imply that the present 
conditions being "right" are final. Change is the 
keynote of the universe and finality is a myth. 
From the primal bog the creature man has 
dragged his slow way up the slippery grade of 
development, shedding one by one his brutish 
traits and ever striving to fan into flame that 
small spark of soul which has led him hopefully 
on. Like a beacon in the night the vision of 
ultimate justice among men has glowed before 
him and even now is glowing with increased in- 
tensity. With ever increasing will and with ever 
increasing intelligence he presses onward and up- 
ward toward the still distant goal of civilization. 

One-third lizard, one-third man and one-third 
angel he bends to the grade; the lights of civil- 
ization are in sight; his thews are strengthened 
by ages of stress and strain, his course has been 



Prologue xxiii 



ever upward and ever upward it will be, in spite 
of the element of swamp reptile which has per- 
sistently clung to him. The man is gradually 
dominating the lizard and likewise the angel, 
whose name is Idealism, is gradually dominating 
the man. 

All that was, was right, in the ascending scale 
of progress ; all that is, is right, for the present 
instant only ; what is to be, will be right though it 
differ in every detail from the right of today. 
Progress is invincible and the world does move 
forward perceptibly. Thus religions, nations, 
ideals, political philosophies and faiths without end 
have come and gone to make way for better ones 
to come, and still man, the central figure, plods 
steadily on. 

In all of the realms of imagination and 
reality there is nothing that is at once as pathetic 
and as inspiring as is this great semi-blind, in- 
articulate, groping brute-man, sullenly plodding 
up through the ages, slipping backward now and 
then only to rise and trudge determinedly onward, 
his heavy half-shut eyes glowing with the fires of 
an awakening soul and set steadily upon the light 
of civilization which gleams upon the distant 
height. 

In considering justice as it is manifested in the 



xxiv Prologue 



universal scheme it is all too evident that the 
Omniscient Will is little concerned with justice as 
it applies to the individual. 

Right is ever becoming an accomplished fact 
and in the process are involved many painful 
procedures which enter as factors in the great 
final accomplishment toward which the whole 
universe drives. These procedures being essential 
to the great master purpose of the universe are 
necessarily right though we as individuals are at 
times shown no more consideration than is grain 
within the mill. 

This progress in its development strikes re- 
morselessly at men and nations, sweeps races into 
oblivion, turns worlds and systems into the dis- 
card but ever marches irresistably on to its 
appointed end. 

It is only when the individual willingly loses 
himself in the cosmic machine and falls into his 
nitche as an infinitesimal part of a perfected whole 
that he can hope to view the idea of justice from 
a proper perspective. 

Be he baker, poet, agitator or farmer, let him 
do his small part in the vast task of living, asking 
no privilege that he is not willing that all should 
have, serving and being served and ever lending 



Prologue xxv 



his individual strength to the forward urge of 
things. 

When a man has fully realized that honor and 
common decency demand that strength shall not 
prey upon weakness, be that weakness physical, 
mental, or material, then and only then, has that 
man's mentality risen above the mental horizon 
of the jungle beast. 

Let a man say to himself, "I am willing to 
fit into the master design of things in whatever 
capacity it has been intended that we as a race 
should fit. If the Master Builder has decreed that 
this humanity to which I belong is to serve but as 
a roadway over which are to march the sandled 
feet of better things, then well content am I to 
serve in such capacity." When a man has reached 
this realization, that in the cosmic scheme, each 
and every infinitesimal part is equally important, 
and without his atom of life and service the 
whole cosmos would have been an uncompleted 
thing, then is he willing to be and to serve in 
whatever capacity shall fall to his lot, and in his 
heart there will reign a buoyant sense which is 
stoicism, infused with the illumination of hope. 

The poem as a whole is the child of necessity. 



xxvi Prologue 



as *'In Conlusion" has for some time been crying 
for the privilege of assuming the concrete* 

The writer has felt that in this day of 
crumbling creeds, of discarded philosophies and 
shattered illusions there is a crying need for some 
voice to proclaim the doctrine of HOPE; the 
doctrine of that hope which has stalked boldly 
down the centuries casting to rearward like out- 
worn garments its tattered and faded creeds and 
philosophies, that hope which in spite of antagon- 
istic philosophy reigns indomitably in the human 
breast and which is today the sole religion of the 
unchurched millions, that hope which knows not 
defeat and recognizes not reason, but placidly, 
fatefully leads humanity over the chaotic quick- 
sands of shifting thought toward the final 
realization of the rightness of things. This 
doctrine of Hope he has endeavored to proclaim. 



PROEM. 

®itr IiappB arr lift, 

(§nt tliouglitH are iuat, 
3lf line mp mnuli, 

SI|0n Ippe mt muat, 
3ff0r l|npe alonr 

l^as life t0 gto, 
An& lI|0U9htB nitU hw 

mt I)npr UTtU line. 



IN CONCLUSION. 



I. 



Full wearied with the ways of men, 

And worn by stress of fruitless thought 
Concerning things beyond my ken, 

A restful solitude I sought. 
I climbed me to a lonely height 

That towers beside the surging sea 
Where far below the billows fight 

In frothing riot wild and free. 



II 



And there I sat me on the rocks 

That overhang the gulf below, 
And watched the frightened screaming flocks 

Of sea mews, white as driven snow, 
Which sv/im through amplitudes of space 

Like thoughts released from mind's control, 
In vain attempt to faintly trace 

The mystic mazes of the soul. 



30 In Conclusion 



III 



Like thoughts to sweep before the wind 

On steady wing, direct, alone. 
To search the pathless sky and find 

New courses through the vast unknown. 
And musing thus I looked below, 

Beheld the battle of the seas, 
And looking, longed in vain to know 

Of life and all its mysteries. 



IV 



The truth of things, of time and place. 

The purpose of this mystic scheme 
That holds our lives in its embrace. 

The motive of this living dream 
In which we act our written parts. 

Nor dare to drop from out the dance 
Though weary grow at times our hearts 

Beneath the heavy hand of Chance. 



In Conclusion 



31 



I longed to know, and longing, knew 

I had no right to long to know, 
Yet willful thought would e'er pursue 

The underworkings of the show; 
Like some lost sea bird of the night, 

Would throw herself against the pane 
Where gleamed the golden harbor light, 

A beacon through the driving rain. 



VI 

Or like some spectral form would tread 

The shell strewn hallways of the seas 
Where roll the bones of ancient dead 

To time of sea sung melodies, 
And forms, undreamed by mortal mind, 

Go shuffling through the amber gloom, 
Weird, ghostly shapes that can not find 

Their sea tossed bones a quiet tomb. 



32 In Conclusion 



VII 



And then grim Fancy's tireless way 

Would wend o'er sandy sea-swept plains 
Where somber ships ill-fated lay 

Bedraped in swaying rusty chains; 
Where casks and chests of tarnished gold 

Are scattered o'er the yellow sand, 
The wasted wealth of tyrants old, 

Untouched today by human hand. 



VIII 

But what to him are gold and ships 

Who seeks alone the truth of things, 
What wisdom from the ocean's lips, 

What council in its murmurings? 
No signal comes from out the deeps, 

No answer from the surf-swept shore, 
But Thought her tireless vigil keeps 

And thinking, questions evermore. 



In Conclusion 33 



IX 



And wrapped in wonder lifts her eyes 

Unto the boundless void of space, 
And hurls her questions at the skies, 

And wildly dreaming, tries to trace 
The purpose of the swinging spheres, 

The hidden scheme of living things, 
But wonder as she will, she hears 

No answer to her questionings. 



And on the wings of Fancy, flees 

More swiftly than the flight of time, 
Through far etherial azure seas 

On up the vaulted skies, to climb 
To port so dimly distant placed, 

No roaming dream has e'er before 
O'er tides of drifting ether traced 

A trail to its forbidden shore. 



34 In Conclusion 



XI 



Still onward, upward, till at last 

With weary wing the port is gained, 
And countless cycling suns are passed, 

But nought of value is obtained. 
For stars uncounted drift and dream 

And flash their secret signals o'er 
The vast abyss where port lights gleam 

As dim and distant as before. 



XII 

She sees the countless systems cast 

Within the systems to the end, 
But where the sequence ends at last 

No dream of hers can comprehend; 
She sees the systems she has known. 

Like wheat from out the sower's hand, 
Strewn out across the sky and thrown 

In ways she can not understand. 



In Conclusion 35 



XIII 

And like a baffled bird that tries 

To fight the tempest all in vain, 
She turns her on her course and flies 

To shelter in the mind again. 
And still the stars swing on their way. 

The tides go streaming out to sea, 
And all the chords of nature play 

One ceaseless, matchless symphony. 



XIV 

And thus my thoughts had gone in quest 

Of aught to quench my deep desire. 
Of aught to soothe the wild unrest 

That burned within, a glowing fire, 
And worn and wearied had returned 

With drooping wing and sullied plume, 
Had brought me nought for which I yearned. 

And plunged me in a deeper gloom. 



36 In Conclusion 



XV 

I heard the surging of the sea 

In slowly measured throbs ascend, 
The pulsing of eternity 

Advancing to its endless end, 
Till stricken down, a beaten thing, 

A hound that cringes at the feet. 
Proud Thought retreated, whimpering. 

Into her kennel-like retreat. 



XVI 

Nor stirred her, hound-like lying low ; 

With restless eyes that witnessed all. 
She watched the hand that gave the blow 

And listened for an unheard call. 
Till thought grew madness waiting there. 

Confined, submissive as the brute, 
And rising, called in wild despair, 

*'Give unto me truth absolute.** 



In Conclusion 37 



XVII 

And lo ! a hand was on my head, 

A husky voice was in my ear, 
And o'er my beating heart was spread 

The shadow of an unknown fear. 
For spectral forms, diversely dressed 

In guises strange, surrounded me 
Upon the headland's lofty crest, 

Above the wild, complaining sea. 



XVIII 

A patriarch with grizzled beard. 

With toothless jaws and hoary head. 
With eyes bedimmed with age and bleared 

With years of stressful thought which shed 
No light upon the truth of things. 

Spoke first of all the ghostly throng. 
While I with wildest wonderings 

By his weird words was swept along. 



38 In Conclusion 



XIX 

"My son," said he, "dissolve thy dream, 
'Tis but a bubble filled with breath, 

Thou art a leaf upon the stream 

Which flows but to the land of death. 

Thine only life is here and now, 
Thou art a toy of Fate's decree 

With 'Finis' written on thy brow; — 
My name is called 'Philosophy/ 



XX 



"I heard you crying," said the sage, 

"A cry I oft have heard before, 
The slogan of each passing age, 

A cry unanswered evermore, 
A cry which ever wildly rings 

From out the hopeful heart of youth 
To die among its echoings, 

'Give unto me the TRUTH! the TRUTH!' 



In Conclusion 39 



XXI 

"The truth, my son, is but a dream, 

A phantom of the Great Unknown ; 
The truth is but the color scheme 

Across the skies at sunset thrown; 
The truth is but the shifting sand, 

Reshaped by every gust of men; 
The clay within the potter's hand. 

Constructed and destroyed again. 



XXII 

"Yea, even as the sparks will fly 

From out the forge's glowing womb. 
And rise into the inky sky 

To fade into the ebon gloom. 
So truth will ever rise and fall. 

And creeds and faiths will ever show 
That truth is never truth at all. 

As far as minds of men can know. 



40 In Conclusion 



XXIII 

"The hollow creeds are all in vain, 

Their fancied gods have followed fast, 
Each one to have its transient reign 

And fade into the endless past. 
But minds of men will ever build 

New creeds and faiths where others fail, 
And human hearts with blindness filled 

Will pray to gods with no avail." 



XXIV 

And lifting up one palsied hand, 

With purpled veins and fingers long. 
He pointed to the ghostly band 

And sneered at all the spectral throng. 
"Behold," said he, "the creeds of men, 

The fabled dreams and blind beliefs. 
The childish myth of *faith,* and then 

Content you with such vain reliefs. 



In Conclusion 41 



XXV 

"But think you not, my son/' said he, 

''That things which you can not conceive 
Do not exist eternally, 

For, in the scheme of things that weave 
Their varied threads through time and space, 

There is intention, thought, and will, 
And though in vain you try to trace 

The great design, it weaveth still. 



XXVI 

"The truth herself, in spite of all 

The long parade of passing thought, 
In spite of dreams that rise and fall. 

Within the grasp of Fate is caught 
And wrapped in robes of gleaming gold. 

Is set upon a lofty throne 
To reign in state, and reigning hold 

The scepter of the great unknown. 



42 In Conclusion 



XXVII 

"Yea, Truth herself, must ever be 

The absolute of things that are; 
The ruler of Infinity; 

The motive of each swinging star ; 
And minds of men will ever strive, 

Will long to reach her shrine in vain, 
And withered hopes will oft revive, 

But hopes revived will fail again. 



XXVIII 

"The mind of man is e'er possessed 

By wildest dreams and vain desire, 
Is filled with longing and unrest, 

A fierce, consuming, inward fire 
And as the twilight moths will rise 

Toward the torch, by fancy caught, 
And deem the flame a golden prize 

Such is the fate of human thought. 



In Conclusion 



43 



XXIX 

"But think you will for think you must, 

Though all your thoughts you think in vain, 
Though all your dreams but end in dust, 

For thoughtlessness is worse than pain. 
You can not hope to bail the sea 

Of truth, nor stem the tide of fact 
With tea cups of mentality. 

But better fail than not to act. 



XXX 

"But when your dreams are dreamed and done, 

The creeds, the prayers, the faiths of man, 
When all their cycling course is run, 

They end the race where they began. 
And thought will pause and turn her gaze, 

By some strange freak of fancy caught, 
Upon the folly of her ways 

And ask in wonder, 'What is thought?' 



44 In Conclusion 



XXXI 

"A hand that clutches at the gloom 

Which shrouds the mystic form of things, 
A voice which cries against its doom 

And dies among its echoings, 
A bleeding fist that mangled falls 

Ere yet it jars the close'd gate, 
A writhing, conquered thing that calls 

In accents most disconsolate." 



XXXII 

And, as the sage thus spoke to me, 

A murmur from the ghostly throng 
Rose high above the surging sea 

In one complaining common song; 
Around us swept the motley crowd 

Of spectres dressed in strange disguise. 
With cowl and surplice, veil and shroud, 

And all with hollow sightless eyes. 



In Conclusion 45 



XXXIII 

The priesthood of the Great Soudan, 

Of Egypt and of far Cathay, 
The torture fiends of Hindustan, 

Had gathered for the coming fray. 
All orders of the fiends of prayer 

Had risen from their beds of blood 
To battle on the headland there 

Above the wild complaining flood. 



XXXIV 

And charging forth with gnashing teeth. 

With frothing lips and demon's glee, 
They cursed the skies and all beneath. 

And fell upon Philosophy. 
But, strange to say, the ancient Sage 

Awoke, a giant in their path, 
He fought with strength of blinding rage, 

And smote them in his heated wrath. 



46 In Conclusion 



XXXV 

I gloried as I watched the mill 

And saw the Sage with ready staff 
Beat out the lives of creeds until 

They gave him way like driven chaff. 
There stealthy monks with torture screws 

And druids old with cruel knives 
Were forced in fiendish war to lose 

The final battle of their lives. 



XXXVI 

They fled before the rising ire 

Which glowed upon the Sage's face. 
Their one controlling, vain desire 

To get them from the fated place, 
And like a herd of frightened sheep 

They hurled them from the mountain side, 
From off the headland's lofty steep, 

Into the frothing, streaming tide. 



In Conclusion 47 



XXXVII 

And when the heated fray was o'er 

We thought ourselves at last alone, 
And standing on the lofty shore 

We heard the ocean's undertone, 
The mouthing of the hungry sea, 

Like some she-tiger wild for blood, 
Whose white teeth clashed with savage glee 

About the boulders in the flood. 



XXXVIII • 

I watched the face of him who stood 

Beside me on the lonely height. 
And read his thoughts as only could 

A kindred soul who sought the light. 
I saw the saddened heart of him 

Portrayed upon his furrowed face. 
And saw his eyes with woe aswim 

Still mutely question time and space. 



48 In Conclusion 



XXXIX 

Oh ! prayerless soul ! The void how deep ! 

How helpless are the hands that lift 
Themselves in anguish as we weep, 

When blind illusion's curtains shift! 
Oh, dream returned ! Thy homing sail 

Brings not the treasure which ye sought ! 
Oh, heart of mine, of what avail 

This Juggernaut of deeper thought! 



XL 

And thus oppressed I sat me still. 

Nor cared to hear nor witness more. 
My heart was steeped in woe until 

I longed to leap me from the shore. 
While o'er the mountains and the sea 

There fell a dark and gloomy shade, 
And sadness o'er the soul of me 

Her robe of ebon blackness laid. 



In Conclusion 49 



XLI 

But still, beneath the gloom and woe 

There burned a glowing vital spark, 
There still were thoughts that would not go 

Nor yield them to the densest dark, 
A fire that like some midnight flame 

But glowed the brighter for the gloom, 
And o'er my bowing soul there came 

A wild defiance of its doom. 



XLII 

And looking at Philosophy 

I saw his face grow cold and stern, 
His thoughtful eyes were set on me, 

I saw their depths with menace burn. 
His gnarl'ed staff was lying by, 

He seized it in his withered hand. 
And ''blood" was written in his eye, 

A sign that I could understand. 



50 InConclusio 



XLIII 

I rose me to the coming fray 

With vivid thoughts of witnessed deeds, 
With recollections of the way 

He slew the countless charging creeds. 
I set upon the waiting sage 

Who chuckled now a mirthless laugh 
And, sneering at my puny rage, 

He smote me with his crooked staff. 



XLIV 

He seized upon me then, as though 

He sought to throw me from the cliff 
Into the frothing seas below, 

And chuckled to himself as if 
He thought the spinning worlds would be 

Far better off than now, without 
A doubter of Philosophy 

To spread infection 'round about. 



In Conclusion 51 



XLV 

But lo ! a hand was on my head, 

A voice of strength was in my ear, 
And o'er my failing heart was shed 

A light that burned with lustre clear, 
And by my side, encased in mail. 

There stood a form whose face revealed 
A courage that could never fail. 

And *'HOPE" was written on his shield. 



XLVI 

And in his hand he held a blade 

Of gleaming steel and pattern old. 
The helmet on his head was made 

Of burnished sheets of beaten gold. 
His stalwart limbs when e'er they moved 

Below the mail in which he dressed. 
In rythmic undulations proved 

The mighty strength which he possessed. 



52 In Conclusion 



XLVII 

"Take heart O Soul," he said to me 

In accents strange and strongly true; 
"Arise and watch and you shall see 

How much the blade of Hope can do.*' 
And holding high his gleaming blade 

He charged with laughter to the fray, 
And with one sweeping stroke he laid 

The Sage across the stony way. 



XLvni 

Then lifting high his trusty blade 

With foot upon his fallen foe, 
This declaration there he made, 

"The God of Right has willed it so. 
I conquer in the name of Truth 

Whose subject I have been from birth, 
I conquer in the name of Youth, 

Of Happiness, of Life, and Worth. 



In Conclusion 53 



XLIX 

"My name is HOPE. I hold the place 

Of envoy from the Master Mind. 
I bring unto the human race 

The light that Knowledge fain would find 
By delving mole-like through the crust 

Of mouldy thought, with blinded eyes, 
With eyes too filled with earthly dust 

To read the teachings of the skies." 



And stooping low he caught the sage 

And hurled him to the growling sea, 
Whose hungry maw with angry rage 

At once consumed Philosophy. 
I loked at HOPE in silent awe, 

Nor dared to speak a fleeting doubt 
Concerning that I heard and saw. 

So utter was the Sage's rout. 



54 In Conclusion 



LI 



But deep within my soul there thrilled 

A chord that answered to the things 
The Sage had said, ere HOPE had killed 

And fed him to the sea that flings 
Its ghostly arms about the stones 

And wails like vampires drunk with gore, 
In fiendish, hollow, ghoulish tones 

Along the spume-swept, rocky shore. 



LII 



But like a flood of April's sun 

Too strong for clouds or fleeting rain, 
When once his gruesome task was done, 

The face of HOPE was wreathed again 
In smiles, so bright that even I 

Forgot the shadows that were hung 
Across my soul's beclouded sky. 

And far gloomy curtains flung. 



In Conclusion 55 



LIII 

And HOPE advanced him to my side 

Where, stripping off his shield and blade, 
He sat him down and gayly tried 

To ease the wound the Sage had made. 
And sitting thus upon the cliff, 

He spoke of things, of time, and men, 
Until my heart rejoiced as if 

It ne'er would feel a woe again. 



LIV 

Said he, "I heard while on the height 

That towers to rearward of the sea, 
The echoes of the fiendish fight 

That raged about Philosophy; 
I heard the teachings of the Sage ; 

I saw you lend a willing ear; 
At last I gloried in your rage 

And, drawing blade, I waited near. 



56 In Conclusion 



LV 



" 'Twas written in the book of life 

That creeds and thoughts should play their part 
That living should be made of strife, 

Of puzzled heads, and aching hearts, 
That man should pass from stage to stage, 

From childish hope to creeds of pain, 
From blind belief to thoughtful age. 

And then from thought to hope again. 



LVI 

"And long ago the Master Mind 

Alloted to my special care 
All gloomy hearts that I could find, 

And bade me light His beacons there; 
He placed a blade within my hand 

So keen that all must fall before. 
He gave me strength to wield it, and 

He sent me to this Earthly shore. 



In Conclusion 57 



LVII 

**I came in ages long ago, 

Long, long before the budding scheme 
Of human life had bloomed to show 

The beauty. of its Maker's dream, 
Back where lush grasses stood in rank, 

Knee deep in tepid, slumbrous seas, 
And silence reigned o'er marsh and bank, 

Unwaked through dead eternities. 



LVIII 

"Back on the faded trail of time 

I watched as human life began, 
A senseless clot of clinging slime 

In those dark pools silurian : 
I followed up the climbing scale, 

With ever ready arm and blade, 
Which like some all-determined snail 

Crept slowly up the trying grade.- 



58 In Conclusion 



LIX 

"And lo ! at last I saw evolved 

A man complete with mind and heart 
I saw the cruder man dissolved 

And marveled in our Maker's art. 
And as some lonely hermit sees 

The blooming of a rose divine 
And revels in its fragrancies, 

So I received this man of mine. 



LX 



"I watched with joy the Master Hand 

Reach down with taper, and ignite 
The torches of his longings, and 

I saw his face grow tense and bright 
I saw the burning queries glow 

Behind the windows of his eyes ; 
And saw his mind awake, and throw 

Its countless questions at the skies. 



In Conclusion 59 



LXI 

"And then I saw that not in vain 

Had been the session of my wait, 
That now at last were joy and pain, 

And human hearts would vacillate 
From lofty heights of happiness 

To deepest depths of misery. 
And in their folly and distress 

My men at last had need of me. ' 



LXII 

"And so through all the fleeting years 

I fight the ghosts of their despair, 
I trade them sunshine for their tears. 

And flush their souls of woe and care; 
My blade is at their least command 

In doting age as well as youth; 
I take each proffered, groping hand 

And place it in the grasp of Truth. ' 



6o In Conclusion 



LXIII 

'1 hear them crying In the night 

The same old cry forever new, 
*Show imto us a clearer light! 

Point out to us the high and true!* 
And seizing on my trusty blade 

I trail them through the inky gloom, 
And, finding them, at last persuade 

And lead them from their somber doom. 



LXIV 

"But fain are men to dwell in need, 

To haunt the dark and dreary ways. 
And loath to listen to, or heed 

The voice that speaks of life to praise. 
They call for Truth, and then refuse 

The proffered hand that Truth would give. 
And in their blinded longings lose 

The light of Truth, and longing live. 



In Conclusion 61 



LXV 

"And you have called within the hour," 

He said with smile bewreathed face, 
"For Truth and superhuman power 

To comprehend all time and space, 
And Truth has stood beside you here, 

Her hand has hovered o'er your head, 
And yet your heart beat wild with fear. 

Your craven soul was filled with dread. 



LXVI 

"The Truth, herself, is absolute 

In that the Truth is one and all 
In that her precincts constitute 

The all unbounded realms that fall 
Beyond the spheres of time and place 

Of mere effect and hidden Cause 
And altogether plainly trace 

The mystic beauty of her laws. 



62 In Conclusion 



LXVII 

"The Truth is Master, child, and man, 

Is clod and stream and growing thing, 

The Truth is all the mighty plan 

Through which the countless systems swing, 

The Truth is life, is joy, and breath. 

The penciled chart, and He who drew, 

The Truth is music, woe, and death, 
The scanned, and still the scanner too. 



LXVIII 

"The Truth is you and even I, 

And even still the dreams you dream. 
The false is Truth, though you may try 

In vain to understand the scheme. 
There is no false. Could we but see 

The full intent of things we call 
'The false in life,' it then would be 

That we would understand it all. 



In Conclusion 63 



LXIX 

"But can the bowls upon the shelves, 

The spinning clay upon the wheel, 
Propound these questions to themselves. 

Or ask the potter to reveal 
The secrets of his varied arts, 

Or bid him tell to full extent 
The nature of their destined parts, 

The end for which they each were meant? 



LXX 

"Nor need the sands upon the shore 

Decry the fate that has denied 
That they should know their goal, before 

They yield them to the sweeping tide; 
For He, who holds the streaming seas 

As helpless bondsmen to His will, 
Has watched through dim eternities 

Each grain of sand and watches still. 



64 In Conclusion 



LXXI 

"And yet you drifting human sands, 

Before you yield to certain laws, 
With weeping eyes and wringing hands 

Decry your fate and curse the Cause 
Who sweeps you on to things unknown. 

Nor hears nor cares to hear your plea. 
For what advice can crumbled stone 

Submit to All Infinity? 



LXXII 

*'You vainly strive to gain reply, 

You blindly boast in your conceit, 
And simple men will ever try 

To hide the fact of their defeat. 
But those, whose search for Truth entails 

Their fervent prayers and bowing heads, 
Are fools who fish for plunging whales 

With bended pins and cotton threads. 



In Conclusion 65 



LXXIII 



"Like fiery blossoms of the night 

The rockets of theology 
Have raised their swaying stems of light 

Toward the distant Galaxy, 
But wearied, ere they well began, 

They hung their sprays of crimson bloom 
Across the mental dusk of man, 

And faded in a deeper gloom. 



LXXIV 

'The trail from out the distant past, 

Is thickly strewn with sticks that lay 
A mute rebuke to those who cast 

Their glances rearward o'er the way, 
And all the restless thoughts of men 

That e'er have wandered off in quest 
Of Truth, have wandered back again 

To know that search is only jest. 



66 In Conclusion 



LXXV 

"For how may Truth deciphered be 

By thought, while thought is yet so small, 
While Truth is all infinity, 

The thought, the thinker, one and all? 
No, thought is not the scale to span 

That boundless, all unmeasured sky. 
Nor is the tea-spoon skull of man 

The bowl to bail its oceans dry. 



LXXVI 

"All human life is as a spur 

Upon the tooth'ed wheel of time. 
That cog but one of all that whir 

Within the mighty mill sublime; 
But every spur upon the wheel, 

As long as all the wheels shall run. 
May trust the Miller Man, and feel 

That he is watching every one. 



In Conclusion 67 



LXXVII 

"Nor need the spinning spurs demand 

That they should know the Master's mind, 
That metal teeth should understand 

The purpose of the meal they grind, 
Suffice that they as teeth fulfill 

The end for which they first were cast, 
Mute subjects of a Master's will, 

For such will be their fate at last. 



LXXVIII 

"Nor need the spurs refuse to move, 

For move they will upon their way. 
Though they in vain should want to prove 

Themselves above their Master's sway. 
And so, thou Soul, it is with you 

Who vainly questions through the years 
The purpose that is woven through 

The swinging systems of the spheres. 



68 In Conclusion 



LXXIX 

"What need have you to know the cause 

Of all that is or yet shall be ? 
Of what concern to you the laws 

That govern all eternity ? 
And why should you, whose life is laid 

Within the hollow of His hand, 
Behold the future all afraid 

Because you can not understand? 



LXXX 

"Or why upraise your voice in prayer 

To tell Him of the things He knows, 
And plead with Him to have a care, 

To take advice which you propose? 
Or why request that He should move 

Or halt His changeless scheme, because 
Your finite mind would fain improve 

The master purpose of His laws? 



In Conclusion 69 



LXXXI 

"Or why demand that you should call 

The Cause by any given name, 
While human minds are yet so small 

And human words so halt and lame? 
Of what avail are written creeds, 

Are painted gods and printed prayers, 
Since worth depends on worthy deeds 

And not on hollow, lofty airs? 



LXXII 

'What though that power which "GOD" implies, 

Who drives the suns, like scattered sheep 
Across the uplands of the skies, 

Has not intrusted to your keep 
The secrets of His realm, that runs 

Beyond the farthest stars that stray 
About the pasture of the suns. 

Are you to grumble or to pray?'* 



yo In Conclusion 



LXXXIII 

And, like some strong and heady wine 

Which wildly races through the brain, 
The words of HOPE had flowed through mine. 

And cleansed it of mistrust and pain. 
My heart was filled with deep content. 

And pulsed with love for friend and foe; 
My woes were gone, but where they went 

I knew not then, nor cared to know. 



LXXXIV 

And life for me had changed its form, 

Like some rare rose in twilight's gloom 
Had burst into a velvet storm 

Of gorgeous color and perfume. 
And in my heart, serene and deep, 

There reigned an all-consuming trust, 
That He who had my life in keep 

Would use me well, for He is just. 



In Conclusion yi 



LXXXV 

I knew Him not, nor cared to know, 

Since He was all and I was nought, 
Since He had seen it fit to show 

That I was ever in His thought. 
And o'er my helpless human head 

I felt the presence of His hand, 
And all mistrust of life had fled, 

Though I could never understand. 



LXXXVI 

And HOPE, with gentle smiling face. 

Again took up his shield and blade, 
And rose him from his resting place, 

While o'er his features brightly played 
A wild delight as he perceived 

The vanquished ghosts of my despair, 
And knew a heart had been relieved 

Of useless sorrow, gloom, and care. 



y2. In Conclusion 



LXXXVII 

"My Soul," said he, '1 leave with you 

The cheer of life I seek to give, 
The good of life that I would do 

For all the gloomy souls that live. 
The light of trust in Vested Power, 

The firm conviction all is right, 
The staunch belief at midnight's hour 

That dawn will follow after night. 



LXXXVIII 

*T charge you to collect the toll 

From all the joys today can give, 
To live in heart, in mind, and soul, 

The life that every man should live, 
To live and help your brother man 

To help himself, and so help you, 
To live and do what good you can 

And then to die when all is through. 



In Conclusion 73 



LXXXIX 

"To die with stalwart strength, and know 

That over all the Master Mind 
Perceives the progress of the show, 

And death is but as He designed, 
And trust that good must be concealed 

Behind the shadow of the shroud, 
And know that sunshine unrevealed 

Is sunshine still, behind the cloud. 



XC 

"For He whose seeming ruthless hand 

Bestrips the poppy of its flame, 
Who smites the roses where they stand. 

And lays the broken lilies lame 
Across the clods from which they grew. 

Has purpose though you can not see 
Nor hope to know the things He knew 

When He designed immensity. 



74 In Conclusion 



XCI 

"So die and lay you down to rest, 

With human fears and doubts dissolved, 
With firm belief that all is best 

As in the mystic scheme evolved. 
No matter if that scheme demand 

That you as one shall cease to be. 
That you as one shall understand 

No more of all its mystery. 



XCII 

"And, if to Him who rules, it seems, 

That men should play a sleeping part, 
Mere ciphers in the Land of Dreams, 

A cipher be, with cheerful heart. 
And know that He who bids you cease 

To comprehend the ways of men. 
Can bring you silence, rest, and peace. 

And when He wills, create again. 



In Conclusion 75 



XCIII 

"Or if as man in vain would know. 

This death is but a transient pause, 
A halt within the moving show. 

In full accordance with its laws, 
A readjusting of the scenes 

Upon the curtained stage of time, 
A rearrangement of the screens 

To bring about effects sublime, 



XCIV 

"And man an actor treads again 

A future stage of better things, 
Bestripped of robes of Earthly pain, 

And rearrayed in figurings 
As brilliant as the gems that gleam 

Where dewy roses bow and blow; 
If this perchance is not a dream, 

Then surely death is shorn of woe. 



76 In Conclusion 



xcv 

"But I must wend me on my way 

To fight the ghosts of men's despair, 
To turn their mental night to day." 

And speaking thus he left me there- 
with springing step he climbed the height 

That towers to rearward of the sea. 
And from his golden shield the light 

Was thrown in showers of brilliancy. 



XCVI 

And lo! I found myself alone 

'Neath sunset skies as red as blood, 
The summer day was nearly flown. 

The flowing tide had reached its flood, 
The wheeling birds had ceased their flight 

And settled on the rocks to rest. 
The sun, an orb of crimson light, 

Was burning in the distant west. 



In Conclusion 77 



XCVII 



And gone was all the phantom throng, 

No sign of warrior, sage or creed, 
And though I hunted well and long, 

I found no trace of bloody deed. 
No gnarl'ed staff nor broken bone^, 

No sod bestained with wasted blood, 
But on the cliff the scattered stones, 

And in the sea the moaning flood. 



XCVIII 

And in my heart there was a peace, 

A deep content, that ne'er before 
Had bid my aching heart to ceas^ 

Its useless pain for evermore, 
A deep content that smiled at pain. 

That laughed to scorn all childish doubt, 
That crushed the ravings of the braw. 

And put all woe to wildest route. 



78 In Conclusion 



XCIX 

A-nd standing thus upon the cliff, 

I saw the humble haunts of men 
Hang out their evening lamps, as if 

They sought to call me home again. 
And then and there this vow I made 

That down through all the future years 
No fate should bid me be afraid, 

No sorrow blind me with its tears. 



For God is ever at the wheel 

Which swings the cosmos on its race, 
Which heads the universal keel 

Across the time-swept sea of space. 
His eye is on the distant goal, 

That mystic port we fain would see. 
The final haven of the soul 

In far dim realms of mystery. 



In Conclusion 



79 



V ENVOY 

Long years have gone as years will go, 

Since I have dreamed upon that height, 
But time has only served to show 

That wrong is but the seed of right; 
And still the stars swing on their way, 

The tides go streaming out to sea. 
And all the chords of nature play 

One ceaseless, matchless symphony. 




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